Holding Hands
by AndAllThatMishigas
Summary: Jean isn't quite ready yet, and Lucien understands.


**Holding Hands**

" _Making love was never about you and me in a bed. We made love whenever we held hands." – Iain Thomas_

Jean had only intended to say goodnight to Lucien when he was up late working in his study. She was off to bed and liked to pop in for a quick kiss before she retired each evening. It was one of her favorite things about being engaged. Just that lovely, easy intimacy.

The trouble was, the intimacy seemed all too easy between them. Because as soon as she'd knocked on the door and told him she was going to bed, he'd stood up and ushered her over to him. They stood by the desk, and she leaned in for a kiss. Instantly, his hands were at her waist, pulling her closer. And Jean couldn't resist stroking his cheek, feeling the texture of his beard under her fingers, putting the other arm around his neck. They were anchored together with mouths and tongues moving against each other in an intoxicating rhythm.

Lucien pressed up against her, pinning her body against his desk. He didn't break the kiss as he reached behind her and pushed his piles of papers onto the floor. Jean didn't quite realize what he was doing until his hands returned to her hips, gripping her and lifting her to sit on the cleared surface.

Jean had to pull away. She sat on the desk where he'd put her and stared at him, wide-eyed and chest heaving. "Lucien," she breathed warningly.

He instantly took two steps away from her. "You're right. I'm so sorry. I don't know what came over me."

But instead of agreeing and hopping off the desk and rushing to bed, Jean smiled. "I think what came over you is the same thing that came over me."

Lucien looked at her in surprise. "Oh?"

She shook her head with a bemused expression. "You aren't ever overstepping, Lucien. Well, you are, but it certainly isn't unwelcome."

He took a half a step forward, opening his mouth to respond, but closing it quickly, a confused expression crossing his face.

Jean suddenly felt very embarrassed at her own feelings. She turned her gaze to the rug at his feet. "I want very much to make love to you, Lucien. But I…I'm just not ready."

"I know, we're not married yet," he replied understandingly.

She looked back up at him. "No, that's not it. Well, that's part of it. Regardless of the church or whatever else, I know I love you, and I want to give myself to you. But it has been such a long time. I…" Jean trailed off, feeling as though she'd already foolishly said too much.

Lucien returned to stand close in front of her. He lifted his hand and trailed a single finger along her cheek and jawline to tilt her chin up to force her eyes to meet his. "Please tell me, darling," he murmured.

"I didn't think I could feel like this again. I thought I'd grown out of it. With Christopher, I was so young, and everything was new and exciting. And now, at my age, to feel this kind of…desire…for you…I don't quite know what to do," she whispered.

"Jean, we don't need a bed to make love," he began.

"No, I know that. You were ready to take me on this desk," she quipped.

He threw his head back and laughed. "Darling, that's not what I mean." Lucien took one of her hands and held it in his. "We make love whenever we hold hands."

Her brow jumped up her forehead. "I know it's been a while for me, but I seem to recall quite a bit more required."

"What I'm trying to say is that we don't need sex to make love. I can love you in feeling the warmth of your embrace. The touch of your hand. The care in a cup of tea you make for me. A gentle kiss." He brought her hand to his mouth and softly grazed the back of it with his lips. "All the rest can wait until you're ready."

Jean swallowed hard. If she listened to her baser instincts, she'd have said she was ready right then and there. But she knew this wasn't the time for them. Whether it was before or after their wedding, they'd figure it out.

She slowly took her hand out of his grasp. "I should get to bed."

"Of course." Lucien stepped back again to give her space to hop off the desk. "Goodnight, Jean."

"Goodnight, Lucien." She paused by the door and turned back to him, adding, "You know, I do quite like holding your hand. But we will do a better job at making love soon."

He watched her leave, chuckling at the exaggerated sway of her hips, still feeling the buzz of her kiss on his lips and the warmth of her touch against him. _Yes_ , he thought to himself, _soon_.


End file.
